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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062588">crumbling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsneakers/pseuds/peachsneakers'>peachsneakers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>preservation of the self outtakes [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, But from Pride's perspective...., Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Like he doesn't mean to be, Mildly Unsympathetic Morality | Patton Sanders, Pride is a sad bean, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, vent fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:33:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062588</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsneakers/pseuds/peachsneakers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His pride is wounded. Literally.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>preservation of the self outtakes [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>crumbling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22504849">most of the time</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TheLittleTrashCat">TheLittleTrashCat (orphan_account)</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>catt inspired me, with their pride story, to write some more pride angst before he gets a hug in the proper story ooOPS</p><p>song lyrics are from five finger death punch "coming down"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I could never be</em><br/>
<em>What you want me to</em><br/>
<em>You pulled me under</em><br/>
<em>To save yourself</em><br/>
<em>(Save yourself)</em><br/>
<em>You will never see</em><br/>
<em>What's inside of me</em>
</p><p>Pride traces the outline of the scar across his chest, meandering diagonally down his ribs. It burns to the touch, not that he's surprised. The skin is too fresh, too raw, but he can't stop himself from brushing his fingers against it anyway.</p><p><em>What use are you now?</em> He thinks, huddling in a corner of his room. It's dull now. The water spots on the ceiling and the cracks in the walls show, now that-</p><p>Now that Romulus is gone. Now that he's <em>left</em>.</p><p>The more charitable side of him reminds him that it wasn't Romulus's choice. He didn't <em>ask</em> to be split. He didn't- he didn't <em>want</em> to be cleaved in two, one acceptable half docilely tugged into the fold by Morality and the other hastily shoved into the cold. Deceit's taking care of the green one, he thinks. He can't be bothered to ask. It would hurt too much. He doesn't know if he wants Remus to remember being whole or if he doesn't.</p><p>Either way, no one seems to remember or realize that part of <em>his</em> purpose has been torn asunder, too. Thomas's own fucking ego, merrily taped to the red side of King Creativity, the Prince as Morality has fancifully designated him. He wants to hate Morality. He <em>does</em> hate Morality. <strike>He can't make himself hate anyone.</strike></p><p><em>It's not fair,</em> he thinks sulkily. His fingers press harder on the fresh scar, dragging out bright divots of pain. It grounds him, reminds him that he has no purpose anymore. Not like he <em>did</em>. He's <em>nothing</em> now.</p><p>"I'm nothing," he says aloud. The sound briefly swells in the silence of his room, then eddies away, dissipating into the desolate reaches of his room. His pride is more than wounded, more than bruised. When he takes his fingers away, the tips are red. He can't make himself care about the blood smeared on his skin, staining his shirt.</p><p>Pride forces himself to his feet, swaying for a second as pain sizzles across his chest. It doesn't matter. His destination isn't that far.</p><p>Romulus's old room is achingly empty. All the color has seeped out of the walls, shadows gathering across the floor. Empty shelves and dressers mock him as he makes his way across the room, eyes scanning the dimly lit recesses. Metal glints and he seizes his new treasure, pulling it out from under the bed.</p><p>Wrath will probably feel this, Pride realizes. He can't bring himself to care. He unbuttons his shirt with one shaky hand, looking down at himself. Bruised and bloodied skin meets his gaze, in a shaky diagonal.</p><p>Romulus's favorite sword makes a shaky line down his chest, following the line of the scar. Blood drips down his stomach as he leans against the side of the empty bed. </p><p>Tears stain Pride's cheeks as the sword clatters to the ground. He buttons up his shirt again, ignoring the blooms of red.</p><p>"I miss you," he whispers to the abandoned room.</p><p>Nothing comes back.</p>
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